


An Emotion in Motion

by LunaTheLittleDragon



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Casual Sex, Cunnilingus, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostitution, chapter two is the porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:09:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29512998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaTheLittleDragon/pseuds/LunaTheLittleDragon
Summary: Altaïr gets on his knees.
Relationships: Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Nurit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Justafewthingstosay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justafewthingstosay/gifts), [Fafsernir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fafsernir/gifts).



> The stars aligned and I actually experienced A Horny for once and this is the result. I take no responsibility. 
> 
> I wrote all of this within like two days and it's barely edited. Cheers to Jane and Théo who read this live on the world's most awkward voice chat. Love y'all.
> 
> The title is a Mae West quote.
> 
> Anyways. Enjoy!

Nurit likes her life. She had been taken in by Al Mualim when she was young, too young to sell her body and yet with nothing else to trade for food. He had refused her desperate advances and brought her into his fortress to grow into her beauty under the care of the other fruits of Masyaf's Garden.

And beautiful she had become. If she still followed her late mother's faith she would be thanking Allah every day for the gift for it is what keeps her safe and comfortable. 

She wants for nothing in the garden. There is food to eat when she is hungry, water to drink when she is thirsty, shade against the heat, fire and warm clothing against the cold. She can bathe whenever she feels like it and should she ever fall sick she would be cared for with good medicine in a clean and soft bed by men who know their trade well. There is nothing she wouldn't give to keep this life. Doing the work that is asked of her is truly not a burden she would refuse in return for these luxuries, this safety.

Nurit knows many outside the brotherhood would look down on her for it, many inside it do, but she is not ashamed of the work she does. Sex is a task she can fulfil to earn her daily bread and it earns her much more for less pain than the jobs of most of the men that would mock her.

Had Al Mualim not judged that she would grow beautiful enough to be one of the garden's fruits, she would either be dead from disease or hunger, working a back-breaking job for barely any coin, or in a horrible marriage. A good marriage had never been likely to be her lot. Any man that would marry a young street whore with nothing to her name would only do it because she is powerless against whatever horrors he lusts to inflict upon her.

And so as she sits with her sisters in the golden rays of the setting sun she cannot help but marvel at how content she is. She remembers what it was like, the day her village was ground to rubble under the merciless heel of war. She had lost everything and everyone she had ever known. The days and weeks following that were dark and hopeless and for a long while she thought she would never again know happiness.

But here she sits, laughing with women who love her as a little sister, who have taught her how to care for the plants of the garden, how to mend her clothing, how to care for her hair and skin, and, of course, how to make a man scream in pleasure. 

Nurit lost her shame long ago between pain and dirt and hunger and horror and she does not miss it. She is proud of her skills. 

Most of the time her work is far from a chore. Sex feels good, even when it gets rough. She is lucky in that pain and pleasure often flow into each other for her. She has been told by some of her sisters that it does not for them. For them, being taken too hard and too deep, being bitten or slapped, is discomfort they must power through with acting and the knowledge that their life of safety and comfort is worth it. When a man takes them from the garden they hope he will be in a gentle mood.

Nurit doesn't much mind a lack of gentleness as long as there isn't a lack of sensation. She likes it when they overwhelm her when the sensation takes her mind from her and pleasure crashes over her like a wave until she shakes. Pain doesn't lessen her pleasure, if done correctly it sometimes enhances it.

She wishes more of the men that lay with her were able to bring her pleasure like that. Most do not care to know how. 

Sometimes an assassin will come to her that has never done the act before at all. There is a certain thrill to teaching a man, she supposes. In this situation, her experience and skill give her power over any less skilled man no matter how much stronger he might be. She relishes in the rush of it, in their wide eyes when they realise what sensations their body is capable of, how she can turn them incoherent with barely any effort. 

But they do not know how to bring her much pleasure and many care not about learning it. Most men know little about giving pleasure. Even if they feel themselves to be a master in the act, most of their skill is in taking pleasure for themselves. They simply want her to be beautiful and warm and wet and alluring. She can do that. She barely even minds the lack of orgasms. It is work. It is rarely horrible, sometimes wonderful and most of the time simply fine.

She speaks much with her sisters. They stick together. Al Mualim and his assassins would never forgive them if they started rumours among the brotherhood. The things an assassin does behind closed doors is not to be turned into gossip. They, the fruits of the garden, have their own pride, their own creed. They are the one instance where an assassin can let themselves be vulnerable and they will not abuse that trust. As long as they are not mistreated they will not speak to others of the details of an encounter. Not even to Al Mualim, not even if he ordered them to. He knows not to.

They refuse to speak to others about their work and so they speak to each other. They share tips and anecdotes, tease each other for their preferences, and have each other's back should one of them come to harm. The assassins that lay with them know very well that they are in the fruit's domain and not the other way around. Should they harm or mistreat one of the women they will pay dearly and their superiors among the brotherhood often are not the ones they have to fear most in such a case.

There are few in the keep that do not enjoy the fruits of Masyaf's garden at least now and again. Even, or maybe especially, Al Mualim, the mentor, does as well.

Nurit does not speak of it, not even to her sisters, but he is her least favourite man to lay with. She respects him a lot but that respect turns into a fear laced discomfort in a sexual context. He is so much older than her, the things he says while in the throes of passion make her uncomfortable and he is not talented at or maybe just not interested in bringing her pleasure.

She is glad she is not his favourite.

As she thinks this one of her sisters' eyes widen and she turns Nurit towards the entrance to the garden with a giggle and a mischievous look on her face. 

Nurit's favourite is standing in the entrance to the garden. There is blood on his tunic, visible even from the distance they are from each other and she sees his hood tilt a little. She knows exactly which arrogant challenging look is on his face even as she cannot see it in the shadow before he turns to go up the stairs to report to his master.

Nurit recognises this as the warning that it is. Altaïr has come back from a mission and he will take her tonight.

She cannot wait.

Alas, she has a bit of time so there is no point in hurrying. Altaïr will need to first report and then bathe. He knows she will not share a bed with anyone that is covered in blood and grime from a mission. 

She bears the jokes and teasing from her sisters with a grin. They know she is looking forward to this. Altaïr is very very good in bed, a fact that she can't help but feel is a bit of a personal accomplishment of hers.

It's been just a few years since their first time together. Back then laying with him was just like with any average man. He was very good at giving himself pleasure and assumed that made him talented despite his disregard for hers. 

She had heard the stories of him, the prodigy. Others spoke of him in awe and envy. Of his skill, of the way that Al Mualim favours him, and of his arrogance.

He must be very used to being the best, she had thought. An arrogant man accustomed to being the best hates nothing more than to be just like all the rest of them in something. And so she told him that he was exactly that. She had put on a bit of a show, overplayed her disappointment, and let him ask her instead of telling him outright. 

She still is always a little shocked at how easily he is manipulated. His reaction to her disappointment was absolutely predictable and almost cute in its pure intensity. Shock and offence and then determined ambition, a refusal to be anything but the best. He found it unacceptable that his skills had been lacking and he vowed to prove to her that he would be better.

And prove to her he did. Among the assassins, he is the best at this now as well. Maybe it is because he lays with her the most regularly and knows her body best. Maybe he has just gotten that good. Either way, she will never give him the satisfaction of letting him know she is impressed. She doesn't want him to stop after all. 

Besides. He may be good but she is better. And luckily for him, Altaïr is worth getting most of her tricks out for. She doesn't admit it, not even to herself, that it is less and less a reward to him and increasingly more her own effort to keep up. She will not let him be better than her. This is her work and she excels at it more than any assassin ever could. 

She drinks a bit more water and eats a few more pieces of fruit. She thinks back to the morning and is sure she has not forgotten her herbs today. Good. She has no interest in bearing any man's child, not even Altaïr's. 

Her sisters are horrible teasing wenches but they dutifully check her hair and face and clothing and right any little wrongs she cannot see so she forgives them and tells them which room Altaïr will be able to find her in. She will await him.


	2. They fuckin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what it says on the tin.

Altaïr dries his hair and puts on his clothes. He does not leave out any part of his uniform as it all shows his rank but he skips over all the weapons and gear. The fortress is secure and he is not on duty. He has no interest in putting that many complicated buckles between the woman and his skin. She knows how to rid an assassin of their gear efficiently, he knows, but he is impatient. 

When he enters the gardens Nurit is not there. The other women she had been standing with laugh and holler directions to the room where she is waiting for him among various lewd comments. He nods in thanks for the information and ignores the rest.

There are rooms for the specific purpose of enjoying the fruits of the garden. The women have their own separate quarters to sleep in as the assassins do but they are for rest, not work. Besides, having specific rooms for the purpose of sex makes the servants' job of knowing when to change the sheets easier as well as minimizing noise complaints. 

He enters the room he had been told she would be in and she is. The second he sees her he cannot think of anything else. Closing the door is an afterthought. 

Nurit is lying on the bed in nothing but a few sheer pieces of clothing that hide nothing and almost make her look more lewd as if she had been wearing nothing.

He knows she is smart. It is one of the things he admires her for and it shows in the room. She has chosen one where the evening sun shines through the window, bathing her in golden light. 

She is breathtakingly beautiful and he does not hide the way his eyes follow every curve of her body. She smirks and stretches, her arms above her head, her spine twisting to accentuate all the parts of her figure he knows she likes.

There is a part of him that could watch her forever. Burn the details of her body into his memory, the way her chest rises and falls, the way she moves.

But he has come fresh from a mission. The anxiety of the hunt has only recently been replaced by the glory of victory and he wants more. He wants to take her, to taste her, to feel all of her, to make her scream his name, and to make her shake.

He wants to succeed at this as he did his mission almost more than he wants the physical pleasure of the act. And he does want that very much as well.

"Welcome back, Altaïr. I trust you were successful in your mission?"

Oh, her voice. It is as beautiful as the rest of her, the way she says his name. He wants her to say it again. He wants her to scream it in pleasure.

"I was. The target is dead."

"You have earned your reward then, I would say."

"Yes!" His voice carries something in that word. Not desperation, it will take more than just the view of her to make him truly desperate, but he knows she can hear how much he wants her all the same.

She giggles smugly and slowly brings her hands down her body. They cup her breasts for a moment, let a finger brush over her nipples, slide down her stomach to her legs and push away the fabric so that when she opens her thighs there is nothing between him and her folds.

He licks his lips and takes off his hood. In two steps he is in front of her. He drops to his knees and takes a leg in each hand to pull her hips to the edge of the bed and put her legs over his shoulders. 

Their eyes meet and there is a moment of stillness. They hold each other's gaze, both pairs of eyes full of confidence and challenge, matching smirks on their faces. 

Altaïr can feel his expression darken in determination and brings his face down to lick a broad stripe over her. She sighs lightly and drops her head to the mattress, her thighs tighten at his ears and her ankles hook over each other. 

She does not put a hand on his head to guide it as she once used to and he feels a sharp bloom of pride fuel his determination. Instead her hands wander her torso to pet at her breasts, neck and stomach.

He loses himself in the task. Her taste is mild and familiar and he does not mind it. He alternates between long licks across her folds and rubbing his tongue over the small knob at the top of them that makes her squirm. Every sigh and gasp and hum tastes of victory and he smugly notices how her breathing becomes faster and more shallow.

His arms are around her thighs, holding them in place. He knows she likes it, pressing against his hold and knowing he can keep her in place even as she bucks and shakes… she's not there yet but he will be ready for it.

He moves his left arm around her thigh and locks it between the crook of his elbow and his shoulder. His fingers come from the top to spread her folds so he can lick directly across the little knot of pleasure. 

Nurit makes a sound that is a mix between a gasp and a moan and ends in a long hitching hum as he keeps teasing her with sharp pleasure. He loves it. He closes his lips over the knob and sucks and has to press his left arm down quite hard to keep her in place as she moans his name.

"Altaïr!"

And by the god he doesn't believe in that voice saying that name in that tone will never not make him wild.

He lets go of her other thigh to bring his right hand down to the opening at the bottom of her folds and presses two fingers in. He keeps holding her hips steady as she bows her back and moans and tightens her thighs some more.

Every breath is accompanied by a moan as he keeps sucking and licking at her and starts to push his fingers in and out. 

Her voice gets louder and higher and fills the room with moans and curses and "Altaïr!" and "Yes!" and "More!" and he is drunk on it. 

He buries his face between her legs, redoubleing his efforts, and adds a third finger to fuck her harder, faster.

Her breath is deep and sharp and panting and he loves the sound, can feel it under his left arm as the other fucks her and she babbles an incoherent warning that only makes him do more, faster, harder, until she goes still for a moment. Her breath catches in her chest and she tenses, not making any sound at all, before she shakes apart with an uneven shout of his name.

She has always been loud and Altaïr is glad of it, of the easy proof of his success. She twitches almost violently as he continues fucking and licking her a little more gently. Her hands fly to his head and grip his hair, not to move him but simply holding on. She is whining desperately at the overstimulation and bucks her hips in a way that would make him think she wants to throw him off if he did not know any better.

She is not uncomfortable, he knows, simply overwhelmed, as she likes being. And as he likes making her.

When her whine kicks a little higher and she shouts "Mercy! Altaïr, mercy!" He detaches his lips from her and stills his fingers. 

He looks up at her body and the view is sublime. She is covered in a thin sheen of sweat that makes the vanishing last rays of the days sun glitter off of her. Behind her heaving chest he can see her neck stretched out as her head is thrown back. 

She lets go of his hair and loses all tension in her body, letting herself sink into the mattress.

He wipes his mouth and chin and rises to lean over her, his elbows next to her head.

"Satisfied?"

"No."

Nurit kisses him, deep and sensual, unhurried in her post orgasmic relaxation. 

It is both a lie and the truth. She is quite satisfied with the way his tongue and hands have gotten her to shake apart. That he so enthusiastically does this act which has no purpose besides bringing her pleasure is immensely satisfying.

But that does not mean that she is overall satisfied and wants nothing else. Oh, she wants more already despite the way she throbs and knows any touch between her legs right now would hurt more than feel good.

Well, there are many things they can do without that while her cunt recovers. Altaïr has pleasured her very nicely and her pride will not allow her to let that be unrequited. 

As they kiss she lets her hands brush over him. Through the short hair at the back of his head, along his neck, over his shoulders and down his chest to the wide metal belt that marks him a master assassin. He is proud of that, she knows, but she has never let their ranks impress her. She cares not for a man's rank or skill at killing. 

What she judges a man on nothing more than his naked body and how he can use it. Altaïr knows this. He no longer smirks so arrogantly when she touches his belt. 

It infuriated him at first, her lack of respect for his rank, and that fury was channelled in learning and honing his skill in this act that will make him earn her respect. His need for praise and respect will most likely end up his most fatal flaw one day but it is so very convenient for Nurit's purposes that she dares not name it to him.

Her hands find the buckle of the belt and she unclasps it and slides it to the floor. He answers by kissing her more intensely for a moment and then taking her shoulder in his hands and pulling her with him as he stands. 

She rises with him and ends up standing intimately close, trapped between his body and the bed, their faces only a hair's breadth apart as they breathe each other's air. 

They are almost exactly the same height but he is much broader than her, both from being a man and the training he does, which makes him loom a little over her. 

She does not find it intimidating. 

He could overpower her easily but she knows he does not want to. What he wants is to bring her pleasure and have her recognise his skill. Like a dog that despite all his teeth only wishes to please his master and to be praised for it. She is his master in this and she will make him earn her praise. Her lips quirk in a smirk as she thinks of calling the deadly Eagle of Masyaf a "good boy" in bed. She knows it will infuriate him, not despite but because of his craving it.

Before he can question her smirk she ducks down to kiss the bottom of his jaw and makes to rid him of every scrap of cloth and leather that is between her and his skin.

He too slides the clothing, that had been doing its job of not covering her at all, off her and leaves her adorned in only a few pieces of jewelry that catch the last golden rays of the sun.

In the end they both stand nude and unashamed next to the bed. They are pressed together closely as they kiss. Her arms are around his neck, keeping him close as his hands wander her body, resting on her back and waist and ass in turn. She can feel how hard he is against her hip. 

They pull apart to breathe and she opens her eyes to look at him. His face is dark with lust and she can tell his patience will run out soon. She feels the same. A short glance to the window reveals the sun is almost completely gone. It is starting to become dark. She sighs and breathes a word into his neck.

"Lamps."

He growls a deep displeased note at the interruption and oh, she likes that sound but that is not the point right now. They break apart and light the oil lamps around the room with mutual efficiency. 

He finishes with his just a moment before her but it is enough for him to be settled on the bed with his legs spread shamelessly and a lascivious look to his face where he had been admiring the view of her bent over a little to light the last lamp.

She huffs in exasperation and stalks over to drop to her knees and take him in her mouth all in one swift movement.

Altaïr suppresses a surprised yelp but he’s not fooling her. There’s a warm curl of smug satisfaction in her chest that she can keep him on his toes like this. 

Their eyes meet for a moment. She can see it, how he knows his control of the situation has slipped from his hands into hers and yet dares not stop her. She is very good at this.

Nurit knows how she must look, the tip of his dick in her mouth and looking up into his eyes. Lewd and shameless, beautiful and made more so by her confidence.

Some of her sisters had assumed that this larger than life man would be very well endowed and were quite surprised to know that he is not really. He is entirely average in all dimensions and she is fully content with that. She never much cared for the specifics of a man's penis. No matter what they are working with a man would either find a way to bring her pleasure or not care about it and that is what she would rather judge.

She winks, startling a low chuckle out of him, before she finally decides to do more than just hold him in her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can see the exact moment I go "wait how do blowjobs work" and get distracted.
> 
> I've had this lying in my docs for like two months and decided I should probably just post it cause I don't know if I'll ever write more and it's a good enough end honestly. Maybe if the stars ever align again I'll add another chapter. Maybe.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to tell me absolutely any thoughts that are going through your head in the comments.


End file.
